


Collar

by Medie



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, Interracial Relationship, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This must be what being relaxed feels like. It's been so long since he felt it he can barely remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collar

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://azarsuerte.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**azarsuerte**](http://azarsuerte.dreamwidth.org/) who had a rough night. Inspired by Carter's little 'when I pictured you in the back of my car' line from episode 14 "Wolf and Cub" No spoilers for the episode however.

He should probably worried about how comfortable he is with this. His instincts should be screaming at him right now, should have been from the moment she pulled his arms back and cinched the cuffs around his wrists, but they're strangely quiet. This must be what being relaxed feels like. It's been so long since he felt it he can barely remember.

"You're smiling," she says, and settles. She's a warm weight in his lap and his fingers twitch. God, he wants to touch her.

"I am?" he tips his head back, watching her lick her lips. "Is that a problem?"

"Got you handcuffed in the back of my car," Carter says, her voice just as cool and professional as that day in interrogation. More so. She's not trying to force a connection this time; she's already got that and then some. "Seems to me that should worry you a little." She flicks a glance over him, she's looking for the tell, and his body tenses beneath the promise. "Unless, of course, you've already got an out."

He does grin at that. "I always have an out."

"Mm, don't I know it." Her smile widens and her hips roll. He hisses out a breath, his fingers twitch behind his back, and he contemplates working his way free. It wouldn't be so difficult to work his way free, but that's not the point of this particular exercise. "Question is, what is it this time and how do I make you tell me?"

She kisses him, feather soft, not enough. Not even close enough. He's burning for more, but she's not going to give it to him. Not yet. He can tell that by the gleam in her eye. She's going to drag this out as long as she can. Part of him isn't complaining about that idea, but the rest of him is screaming to bury himself in her and she knows it.

She's banking on it.

"I've had training to resist coercion," he says, but he still chases her lips when she pulls away.

"I'll just bet you do," she says, and there's another lazy roll of her hips to make her point. She leans back, pulling her hands away from him to reach behind and unfasten her bra, and his eyes follow the motion. "I'll bet you've had all kinds of training, but something tells me that's not going to work here."

"No?" he says, his voice absent as the bra slips away. Occasionally, he lets himself be a human being. More and more those occasions involve her. That's a mistake, always has been, but he's still here and she's still holding the keys.

"No," she drops the bra over his shoulder, silky fabric teasing his skin, and he tries not to look at it. Tries, but the red fabric is irresistible. He turns his head and rubs his cheek against the fabric and feels her thighs twitch against him. She likes that. "See, I think you're about ready to bust here and I think you're going to tell me whatever I want to hear." She grinds into him, pressing down, and he groans. "Oh yeah, I promise to take care of _this_ and you're mine."

She's not wrong about that. He lets his head fall back against the seat, eyes watching her breasts rise and fall as she starts up the rocking again. He's trapped beneath her, so close to where he wants to be, but not close enough.

Her hips still, jerk, and he looks. Her hand is between her legs and she's biting her lip. He swears, low-voiced and desperate, and she laughs.

"Do anything for the key, wouldn't you?" she asks, her voice throaty and close. "All I've gotta do is say the word."

He leans forward, nuzzles her skin, tastes the sweat on it and mouths, "Absolutely," into it.

The surrender feels good, he jerks up against her, fighting to make it last. He says it again and she laughs, curling the fingers of one hand into his hair. Her nails stroke over his skin and he shudders, almost doesn't feel the tiny key press into his palm.

"Atta boy," she says, and the cuffs fall away.


End file.
